But what they lacked in force and fatalities, the double-barreled bombings made up in symbolic pain.

It takes an evil foe to unleash a whirlwind of shrapnel in what was the giddiest place on Earth, a euphoric scene where runners kicked into home sweet home to be high-fived, hugged and hydrated.

It takes a true demon to take twisted delight in the maiming of one global sport that requires next to nothing in equipment, a sublime steppingstone for gifted African nations like Kenya and Ethiopia.

At reflective times like these — two days after the news flashes, long before the bones and the flesh knit — utopian dreams of nonviolence seem fundamentally unserious.

We’re at war. Our troops have suffered enormously overseas. Hell’s been paid. Hostilities may be random on the home front, the enemy may be shadowy and protean, but the country seems nearly as vulnerable as it was in the ’60s when riots and assassinations ripped the social fabric.

To calm nerves and demonstrate “leadership,” authorities, reading from their job manual, pledge justice for the killers, be they domestic or international terrorists or lone wolves.

But in the real world, there is no foreseeable end to the war against the circus mirrors of terror.

We saw ugly post-adolescent faces in Aurora and Sandy Hook. We saw another in the Atlanta Olympic Games where the bomber was a domestic terrorist. Another demented face was writ insane in the manifesto of the Unabomber.

Not to mention the suicidal business plan of al-Qaeda & Co.

Yes, Americans should celebrate those heroes who ran toward the screams on Patriots Day. We’d all hope to show similar grace under pressure.

But now that the race is over, the real trick is to quickly heal from the Boston trauma.